


anticipation

by CapnShellhead



Series: calculated promises [2]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Black Panther (2018) Spoilers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 04:15:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13732944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapnShellhead/pseuds/CapnShellhead
Summary: It's been a while since M'Baku and T'Challa's last meetingMore short M'Baku/T'Challa porn.Spoilers for Black Panther.





	anticipation

“So, if we are all in agreement, I will meet with Ross tomorrow and discuss,” T’Challa trails off, feeling eyes on him. He meets M’Baku’s smug grin and shakes his head. Someone clears their throat and T’Challa hurriedly continues. “Discuss strategy. Thank you, all.”

The group leaves, a few curious glances at T’Challa’s nervous hands as he climbs to his feet and waves farewell. The doors close, leaving M’Baku behind. Even the Dora Milaje have left, at T’Challa’s request, although they treated M’Baku with cautious glances. 

T’Challa eyes the closed doors carefully, his heart pounding. “You know better than to stare at me like that during a meet-M’Baku!” he chided, feeling strong arms wrap him up and pull him into M’Baku’s lap. M’Baku’s gleeful laugh fills his ear and he wonders about when that sound started to fill him with joy. 

“I am forbidden from looking at you in council meetings now? Won’t I appear rude when you’re speaking, your highness?” he asks, his hands trailing down T’Challa’s front as he lay back against M’Baku’s chest. T’Challa sighs, feeling M’Baku’s hand slide between his legs. It had been a few weeks since their last “meeting” and T’Challa, against his better judgment, had missed this. 

“The way you are looking at me tells me you haven’t heard a word I’ve said.” The broad chest at his back rumbles with M’Baku’s laugh. His hand comes up to touch T’Challa’s chin, warm breath on his cheek as M’Baku leans in. 

“On the contrary, I paid very close attention to this mouth.” The words send warmth down T’Challa’s spine and he turns, allowing M’Baku to devour his mouth. He kissed like he did everything else; rough, possessive, sucking hard on T’Challa’s tongue and claiming it as his own. T’Challa groans, writhing as M’Baku’s hands start on his fastenings. M’Baku pulls back to whisper, “I would wager I know your clothing better than the seamstresses at your disposal. You make my job difficult, tiny king.”

T’Challa’s face warms, as it always did at the nickname. “I don’t wear my clothing for you.”

“You don’t?” M’Baku asks, slipping a finger beneath T’Challa’s waistband. “So you always go without underwear?”

T’Challa gasps, his heart pounding. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.” 

M’Baku hums, “No, you don’t.” He pulls the trousers down T’Challa’s legs and pulls the top over his head. T’Challa moves with him, the familiar anticipation taking over. “One of these days, you’ll admit your affection for me.”

T’Challa groans in annoyance, letting M’Baku spread his legs and pull out the oil. “Is that so?”

“Just so.” He slicks his fingers and starts preparing T’Challa. M’Baku sometimes missed the way T’Challa would tighten in anticipation but he would gladly trade that for the knowing way he relaxed in M’Baku’s grip and opened beautifully for him. “You like me. You want me to stay here in your palace.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” T’Challa asked, sucking in a breath as M’Baku’s finger brushed his prostate. 

M’Baku nuzzled into his neck, his voice low. “Well, there is the way you welcome me into your home,” he crooks his fingers and listens to T’Challa moan. “And your body. You look at me like you want me to tear your clothes off.”

“Imagining things,” T’Challa murmurs, even as he pushes back on M’Baku’s fingers. 

M’Baku laughs, working his strong fingers deep in T’Challa’s hole. “Stubborn.” He kisses the back of T’Challa’s neck. “That’s okay. We can change that.” 

The words give T’Challa pause but he settles back as M’Baku works him open, his cock thickening in anticipation. God, he’d missed this. Judging by the thick bulge beneath his thigh, M’Baku had too. 

Finally, M’Baku slicks his cock and lines them up. The first push inside draws a low, thankful moan from T’Challa’s lips. It was long overdue and it’s all T’Challa can do to cover his mouth as M’Baku fills him up. They’d had sex in bed a few times but M’Baku filled him so much more when T’Challa was on top and sinking his weight down onto his cock. 

M’Baku palms his stomach, holding T’Challa tight to his chest as he began a slow rhythm. Sometimes T’Challa rushed him but sometimes, like today, it was like this. Slow, long thrusts that filled T’Challa until he felt overwhelmed. A gradual burn that made him melt and lay his head back on M’Baku’s shoulder. M’Baku kisses his neck, and, curiously, a delicate spot behind his ear. 

“What could be so bad about admitting you might need this?” M’Baku asks, his voice low in T’Challa’s ear. 

“I don’t,” T’Challa replies, even as he tightens around M’Baku’s cock. His cock is hard and leaking along his stomach, desperate for M’Baku’s hand. As much as he teased, he often spoiled T’Challa. 

“No?” M’Baku asks, doubtful. He slides a hand down T’Challa’s chest and swipes a thumb through a wet line of precome. “You don’t need this?”

T’Challa starts to shake his head but M’Baku’s hips roll knowingly, brushing T’Challa’s prostate. T’Challa bites off a groan, and another as M’Baku does it again. He takes hold of T’Challa’s cock and strokes him, nuzzling his neck as he writhes. “M’Baku,” T’Challa pants, feeling soft lips on his neck. 

“Be honest,” he murmurs. He strokes T’Challa, his grip tightening as T’Challa grows louder, his hips bucking wildly. “My king,” he adds, and moments later, he feels T’Challa’s hole tense around his length. T’Challa gasps, his cock thickening in M’Baku’s grip as he comes, pushing down on M’Baku’s cock. 

He tries to muffle his cries, reaching up with a fist to cover his mouth but M’Baku steals his hand, entwines their fingers together as he continues to thrust deep inside of him. T’Challa lets out a loud moan and curses M’Baku’s name. M’Baku works him through it, chasing his own release. He loses himself in T’Challa’s warmth for a moment, long enough that T’Challa takes hold of his other hand, too sensitive to the soft stroking. He holds fast to M’Baku’s hands, pushing back as M’Baku fucks him. When he comes, he buries his nose behind T’Challa’s ear and squeezes tight around his fingers. He pants, sliding into T’Challa’s slick hole lazily as he milks the last of his release. He’s fully aware that he will have to sit here for the next meeting and the one after that and so on, knowing full and well what transpired. And he’s pleased with that. 

T’Challa pats his arm and waits, breathing hard as M’Baku’s pulls out. He settles back, taking his time before getting dressed. “What did you mean earlier?” T’Challa asks. M’Baku hums in question. “About me being stubborn.”

“Nothing, tiny king,” M’Baku answers. “Pay me no mind.”

“I usually don’t,” T’Challa says and the words warm M’Baku. 

He knows them to be false.


End file.
